


Mirror Images

by izazov



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: AI Tony, Angst, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Post-Secret Empire: Omega, Secret Empire (Marvel), Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 13:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: Steve is used to having enemies. He is not used to seeing them in the mirror.





	Mirror Images

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cap IM Tiny RB Round 10 and inspired by [Reactor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11791626) by SirSapling

Days are easier to go through.

There is work to be done. Clearing the rubble, scouring through the wreckage in search of survivors.

Physical work, the kind that pushes a body to exhaustion and dulls the mind.

The kind that Steve needs right now.

There is purpose to it, and sense of making things right no matter how small, how lacking it feels.

Things cannot be rushed, Steve knows it. All he can do is try and help where he can. However he can.

It stings, though. The gazes he feels on the back of his neck, the stolen glances and the way people look away when he meets their eyes.

It is not unexpected. His face is identical to that of the man responsible for wreaking terror and ruin across an entire country. _Steve’s_ country. Country Steve has sworn to defend a lifetime ago.

It doesn’t come as a surprise, but it still feels like a punch to the gut when one of the civilians trapped under the wreckage, a kid, takes in the sight of Steve in his uniform and recoils in fear from Steve’s offered hand.

Just a small gesture, a reflex, but it paints a perfect picture of Steve’s current reality.

Fear, distrust, suspicion. That is what the sight of Captain America evokes now.

A part of Steve is angry, fuming with the injustice of it. After spending years trying to live up to an almost impossible ideal that is Captain America, it took only a few months to have it crumble to pieces.

It will take a lot of time, hard work and patience to build it back again. Steve will do it. He has to. He owes it to those who have suffered at the hands of his counterpart, and he owes it to himself.

Steve has never backed down from a fight in his life, and he is not going to do it now. Even if this is shaping out to be the biggest fight of his life.

Clearing out the rubble, rebuilding… that is the easy part. But there are other wounds, invisible ones, measured in spilled blood, death and betrayal that run deep. Those are not going to be as easy to mend.

_Easy_.

The very word makes Steve’s throat close around something that is half laughter and half scream. Nothing is easy these days. Everything is difficult, muddled by what Steve’s counterpart has done, even that what has always been clear: who Steve is and what his purpose is. But at least he can do something constructive during the day.

Nights, though…

Steve cannot stop… _hurting_ those who are most important to him each and every night in his dreams.

***

Steve wakes gasping, drenched in cold sweat, his fingers clutching bits of fabric that used to be his sheets.

The noise of metal hitting metal is still ringing in his ears, loud enough to drown out the sound of his panting breaths.

Steve lays on his back, staring at the ceiling, wide-eyed and struggling for breath, as the images from his dream replay itself before his mind’s eye.

Tony - the real Tony, not the AI - standing proud and defiant, arms spread wide, shielding the young heroes behind himself. Protecting them from Steve and HYDRA soldiers backing him.

_“You’re not coming near them, Steve. You or your flunkies.”_

Steve can still feel the grin - mocking and cruel - curve his mouth. In the dream it felt natural, easy. Now, it makes his stomach lurch.

_“Come on, Tony, it’s over now. Give up. All this time and still you haven’t learned what happens when you fight me? Let me remind you then.”_

Steve shuts his eyes, presses his knuckles against them until he sees sparks dancing in front of his closed eyelids. It doesn’t stop the images of a fight from playing out until there is nothing but Tony, lying on the ground, staring up at Steve’s eyes and not the shield Steve is holding over his prone body, his mouth forming a bloody grin.

_“Are you going to finish it this time, Steve?”_

It is only when a metallic tang fills his mouth that Steve becomes aware that he has bitten through his bottom lip.

He pulls his hands away from his eyes, forces them open. Inhaling deeply, Steve sits up and throws a glance at the digital clock on the bedside table, his stomach sinking as he sees the numbers displayed on the screen: 3:25 AM.

“Goddamit,” he curses in a low voice, scrubbing a hand across his face. There is no point in trying to get back to sleep now. Assuming Steve wants to put in the effort. Which he doesn’t. He can still see that last scene from his dream, still hear Tony’s voice daring him to kill him. It is not the first time Steve has had this particular nightmare, but to have it now, to tie one of Steve’s worst memories to what his counterpart has done. Shame doesn’t even come close to encompass the hollow feeling churning low in Steve’s stomach.

Sighing, Steve pushes what is left of his sheets to the side, and swings his legs down onto the floor. Raking his fingers through his hair, Steve bows his head. He feels tired, but it is not battle fatigue or the weariness that comes with shouldering the weight of an ideal in a world where ideals are outdated at best and a joke at worst. Steve is used to those. This… this is something new, and it runs deep, down to the marrow of his bones, making him feel every single one of his long years.

Rising to his feet, Steve pads over to the bathroom.

He splashes his face with cold water, his gaze catching on his reflection in the mirror. For just a moment, it is _him_ Steve sees. The differences are small, but significant: the hint of cruelty in the curve of lips, the coldness of gaze. A blink, and it is his own face looking back at him from the mirror; his hair is a spiky mess, his lower lip puffy but already healing, his eyes dull and weary.

They are the same man, but vastly different at the same time.

Anger surges through Steve - hot and immediate - but Steve grits his teeth, folds his fingers around the edge of the sink instead of ramming his fist through the mirror.

A reflection in the mirror is not Steve’s enemy. And neither is Steve himself.

Perhaps it is finally time to face the one who deserves that label.

To finally draw the line between the two of them.

Straightening, Steve pushes away from the sink and walks out of the bathroom.

***

The view of New York at night is soothing and comforting. _Familiar._

Iron Man landing on the balcony next to Steve, however familiar a sight, is entirely unexpected.

“Hi, Steve,” Tony says, removing his helmet and placing it carefully on the ground.

Steve blinks, momentarily taken aback. It still feels jarring to see Tony like this, a holographic projection instead of flesh and bone. But there is no doubt in Steve’s mind: it _is_ Tony. The look in his eyes, the smile, the slight tilt of his head; all are familiar, all are Tony’s.

Even his hair looks messy like it always did after he’d taken off the helmet.

Something warm flickers into existence inside Steve’s chest, his mouth spreading into a smile that never fully forms.

Memories; fragmented and disjointed but no less clear for it rise unbidden from the darkest recesses of Steve’s mind, and suddenly Steve finds himself on another balcony, the words spilling out of his lips, aiming where Tony’s armor is the weakest. Not Steve’s words, even if the man saying them wears his face, then smiles when Tony, hurt and angry, takes off into the sky.

Not Steve’s words, but the shame and guilt that twist low inside his abdomen are Steve’s.

“What are you doing here?” Steve says. It comes out harsher than Steve intended.

Tony remains unfazed by Steve’s tone, his only reaction the slight twitch of in the corner of his mouth. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question, Cap?”

Steve’s mouth tightens, a flare of agitation lighting up inside him. “Considering this is my apartment, I’d say I get the right to ask first.”

Tony shrugs, leans against the railing. “I don’t actually need sleep now,” Tony points out. The lightness of his voice doesn’t reach his eyes. They stay alert and intent as they dart across Steve’s face. “The last time I checked, soldiers did. Even super soldiers.”

Steve frowns. “I don’t need a babysitter, Tony.”

“You’re the last person I would ever recommend one,” Tony replies, softly. He looks away, his smile turning rueful. “Besides, I’d make a lousy babysitter.”

Steve sighs, agitation seeping out of him. Tony has always been the person who could make him lose his temper with just a few words. He has always been the one to make him smile just as easily. Steve steps forward, leans against the railing next to Tony. “I see you are still good at avoiding to answer a direct question.”

Tony glances at him from the corner of his eye, then goes back to watching the lights of New York flicker in the distance. “When the Avengers found you,” Tony says after a moment of silence, his voice barely raising above a whisper, his gaze still set in the distance. “You were having trouble sleeping. I-” Tony trails off, letting out a low laugh. Turning his head, he meets Steve’s eyes. “ _Iron Man_ had been there for you. So, here he is again.” Straightening, Tony spreads his hands apologetically, a hint of uncertainty seeping into his eyes. “Slightly different version, sure. But still a friend.”

Steve’s chest tightens uncomfortably. Half of it is affection and half is regret. “I’m fine, Tony.”

“To my knowledge, most people who claim to be fine are most definitely not fine. Usually they are the opposite of fine.”

Steve’s eyes narrow in a glare. Tony returns it levelly. “I _am_ fine, Tony,”

Tony doesn’t look even remotely convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue.

“I heard someone broke into the Shadow Pillar,” Tony remarks casually, arching an eyebrow.

Steve stiffens, but doesn’t consider denying it. “I needed to speak with… him.” Meet the man who managed to taint everything Steve held dear.

If Tony notices the waver in Steve’s voice he doesn’t comment on it. “And?” he prompts, softly. “Did you get the answers you needed?”

Steve grimaces, looks down at his hands, wrapped around the railing in a white knuckled grip. “I don’t know. He is-” Steve trails off, swallowing the words like _insane_ and _deluded_. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Steve lifts his gaze, seeking Tony’s. “He believes he was doing the right thing. That HYDRA-” Steve cuts himself off, the words leaving the bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps, that is the greatest insult of them all. That his counterpart is not some power hungry maniac or a sadistic lunatic, but someone who sees himself as a hero, a leader, a protector.

Exhaling deeply, Steve forces his fingers to loosen their grip on the railing. “It doesn’t matter now. He cannot harm anyone anymore.”

“Not even you?” Tony asks, quietly.

Steve’s mouth twist bitterly. “People-- good people are dead. Las Vegas is gone… I don’t think I am the one you should worry about.”

Tony turns, studying Steve’s face silently one uncomfortably long moment. “That is true, yes,” Tony admits. Slowly, he reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder. “And none of it is your fault.”

Steve lets out a pained noise, his jaw tightening. “He did all that wearing my face. Under _my name_ ,” Steve grits out. “How can it not be my fault?”

Tony’s gauntleted fingers flexed against Steve’s shoulder, his face setting into a solemn expression. “It wasn’t _you_ , Steve. _He_ is not you,” Tony insists. He squeezes Steve’s shoulder one last time before pulling his hand away. “You are the greatest soldier the world’s ever seen, but not even you can fight against the power of a Cosmic Cube.”

Steve shoots Tony a frustrated glare. “The world is a mess, people are frightened and have no idea who to trust thanks to, for all intents and purposes, myself, and I should lay all the responsibility on a child? It doesn’t work like that, Tony.”

Tony’s blink, incredulous. Then, he shakes his head, looking at Steve in fond exasperation. “Only you, Steve. Only you would refer to a Cosmic Cube as a child. A power to manipulate reality no matter what form it takes is not human. And no,” Tony adds when Steve opens his mouth. “I am not about to argue philosophy and metaphysics with you. Especially considering my current form.” Pausing, Tony straightens, his eyes growing blank, hard. Instinctively, Steve shifts into a battle stance. “But if you’d like to assign blame, then why not point your finger at me? Or Sam? Maybe Sharon?”

“What are you-” 

“Your evil twin was running around behind our backs putting his plans into motion and not one of us noticed something was amiss. I didn't notice a damned thing. Even when you were a major asshole that one time.” Twisting his mouth into a shadow of a smile, Tony gives a half-shouldered shrug. “I was too busy starting another war.”

Something cold and heavy - so damn heavy - settles behind Steve’s ribcage. He knows - not every detail, not every word, but enough - of what his other self has done to wonder whether or not he could have prevented what has happened to Tony.

And the worst thing is that he doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Steve expels a heavy breath. “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Tony,” Steve says, voice heavy with weariness. “You couldn’t have known what has happened.”

“And _you_ could? Are we really going to do this pot and kettle thing now, Steve?” Tony says, wryly. When Steve remains quiet, sending a glare Tony’s way, Tony tilts his head to the side, studying Steve’s expression with unwavering focus. Steve grits his teeth, forcing himself not to look away.

“How much do you remember?” Tony asks finally.

Steve swallows against the dryness in his throat. It doesn’t sooth the burning ache inside it. “Enough. Kobik, she-- she showed me everything.” Every lie. Every betrayal. Every death.

A shadow flickers across Tony’s face. “Do you regret it?”

Steve shuts his eyes for a moment. Not having his other self’s memories would have been easier. Maybe he would be able to sleep at night. Maybe he could look at Sam without wincing.

Maybe he could look at Tony without remembering his oldest and deepest secret being revealed as a mockery and a taunt.

Maybe he could look at himself in the mirror without seeing him there.

“No,” Steve says, opening his eyes. “If I’m to fix the damage he’s done, I need to know the full extent of it.”

And Steve finally knows where to start fixing things. He has become Captain America to serve his country in the war but he has stayed Captain America to help people. To protect them. Maybe now it time to do it in ways that do not include Avengers or SHIELD. 

Tony lets out a low, mirthless laugh. “I knew you were going to say that.” Looking down, Tony starts fiddling with his right gauntlet. “There is a difference between only knowing something happened and remembering exactly how it happened. I would chose the former, by the way.” Lifting his gaze, Tony smiles a small, bitter smile. “But you already knew that.”

Steve frowns, remembering Tony’s confession as he was lying in the wreckage of their base, apologizing for letting Steve down. Confessing something he shouldn’t remember. An old wound that has never healed fully.

The timing is lousy as hell, and the truth has the potential to break things further instead of mending them, but Steve finds himself needing to know if Tony remembers _everything_ now. If Steve is no longer the only one who remembers to what lengths they were prepared to go fighting each other. 

“Tony, how-”

“I’m not him.”

Steve blinks, perplexed. “You’re-- _what_?”

“Everyone keeps calling me Tony and I am referring to myself as Tony, but I’m not Tony Stark. Not really.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts faintly. “Many would disagree.”

“Then many would be wrong.”

Steve snorts. “Yes, that is not something Tony Stark would ever say.”

Tony smiles, soft and warm and real, and so painfully familiar. The pang of longing it coaxes to life in the hollow of Steve’s chest is familiar as well.

“I have his memories and I’m pretty sure I can guess what he would do or say at any given time, but the choices I make? I’ve _already_ made? They are mine. Not his.”

Steve sighs. “Look, Tony, I see the point you are trying to make, but our situations are different. What-” Steve cuts himself off, at a loss for words when Tony steps forward, leaving barely an inch of space between them, fitting one gauntleted hand against Steve’s cheek.

“You know what is the main difference between me and your evil twin?” Tony says softly. He drags his thumb against Steve’s lower lip in what is unmistakably a caress. Steve’s heart rate picks up as every _what if_ and _maybe_ and _too late_ he’s ever thought about himself and Tony he sees reflected in Tony’s eyes.

Steve shakes his head faintly, not trusting his voice to form words. He stands still, even as everything inside him wants to lean into Tony’s touch. Even as he has to curl his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching after Tony.

Tony’s smile turns wistful then fades entirely as he steps back, pulling his hand away. “ _He_ didn’t give a damn about fucking up your life.” Pausing, Tony picks up his helmet off the ground. He traces the lines of the helmet for a moment, then snaps his gaze up, his mouth curving sardonically as he meets Steve’s eyes. “ _I_ will leave that to real Tony. He is more than capable of fucking up his life on his own.”

A dozen questions swirl inside Steve’s head. But he grits his teeth against every single one, watches as Tony puts on the helmet.

“The man who made this armor is trying to be a good man,” Tony says, self-deprecation loud and clear in his voice even through the vocal filters. “Sometimes, he even gets it right. But you _are_ a good man, Steve. The best. Don’t ever forget that.”

Before Steve has a chance to say anything, Iron Man takes off, leaving Steve to stare after him helplessly, brushing his fingers along his bottom lip, wondering what it would have been like if it weren’t the coolness of metal Steve could still feel tingling along his face and mouth, but the warmth of skin.


End file.
